


Perishing

by sapphirebluerubyredroses



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, blood lots and lots of blood, hell hound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirebluerubyredroses/pseuds/sapphirebluerubyredroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's pack has been hunting a hellhound for weeks, but in one night, everything goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perishing

**Author's Note:**

> pre-established Sterek, that is all
> 
> I also have an account on Fanfiction under sapphire blue-ruby red roses and on Tumblr under shutupandshipit where this has been posted

A howl split the frigid air of the night turning Derek's blood to ice. He and Scott glanced at each other, eyes wide. They knew what that howl meant. That kind of howl wasn't a signal to the rest of the pack to the creature's position. No, that howl had been the signal of a kill. "Isn't that the area where Stiles was supposed to be setting up the trap?" Scott asked, voice quivering.

Derek nodded. They took off at the same time, digging their toes into the dirt and kicking up chucks of moss. "It's on the move!" Derek shouted over the rush of the wind in their ears, following the scent of burning flesh and ashes. Suddenly, another scent assaulted his nose, one he was all too familiar with, one he was absolutely attuned to, the scent of Stiles' terror. "Stiles!" he shouted before he could stop his mouth.

"Get Stiles!" Scott shouted, darting off in the direction off the acrid scent, fear and hatred coloring his tone in vivid shades. "I'm going after the hellhound! Get Lydia, Malia, Kira and Stiles out of here!" Before the pair could separate, they skidded to a halt, eyes jerking towards the sky as Lydia's scream, her scream foretelling death, filled the air.

Scott turned fearful eyes to Derek. "Get Stiles! Save him!" he shouted, sprinting towards the approaching hound, "Please, Derek, save him! Save my best friend!"

Derek didn't have to be told twice. He tore through the woods, following the scent of his pack mate, of his mate, silently praying for Stiles' safety. He didn't know what he'd do if something happened to that insufferable, hilarious boy. But as the scent of Stiles' blood grew stronger and the odor of burning flesh pressed against him, his mind completely shut down. Only instinct led him.

"Stiles!" he shouted, bursting through the line of trees into the center of the graveyard, a cobblestone circle surrounded by deity statues of Death from some cultures Derek probably couldn't even name. His claws were out, fangs bared, but unneeded.

Lying in the middle of the stone circle, blood beginning to pool in the cracks beneath him, Stiles stared up at the clouded sky, clutching at the shredded front of his shirt. Blood pooled in the hollow of his throat, crimson and terrible. He made a sucking noise deep in his throat as if he were sick and trying to loosen mucus. When he heard Derek's voice, his hazel eyes slid to him. "Hey, sourwolf," he choked out, grinning shakily.

Dropping down beside him, Derek pulled Stiles into his lap, staring down at him. His claws and fangs had retracted, revealing the very human male behind the mask. "Let me see your wounds," he whispered, not trusting his voice enough to speak louder without breaking.

Stiles didn't have the strength to resist Derek as he pulled his hand from his chest. His chest had been shredded to ribbons by that huge mound of stinking black fur with coals for eyes. Its claws had cut deep into his chest, past the bone. It was a wonder he hadn't already bled out. The edges of his skin and shirt were smoldering and black, as if he'd held a lighter to them.

"Fuck, Stiles," Derek said, horrified. He'd never been one to be squeamish of blood, but at the sight of Stiles' blood, his stomach lurched forward and tremors shook his hands.

"Hey, don't give me that look," Stiles whispered, smiling, his voice watery, but still joking, always joking, "You could give a guy a complex."

"Now is not the time for joking, Stiles," Derek growled, clutching at Stiles' bloodied hand, his veins turning black with his mate's pain. "How much does it hurt?" he pushed through his teeth, clenching his jaw.

"Not much, you sneaky wolf," Stiles said, but they both knew that was a lie from the way his body tensed. His nails dug deep into the back of Derek's hands as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Moments later, his mouth opened wide, releasing a scream that could have rivaled even Lydia's. He hadn't screamed when the hellhound had attacked him nor when he'd touched his own wounds, but now that his adrenaline was slackening, the pain of his boiled flesh and slashed lungs slammed him full in the face.

"You're going to be alright," Derek whispered, brushing shaking fingers through Stiles' short locks, smearing his brunette hair with crimson, "You're going to be fine."

Coughing, Stiles fought for breath, clutching for Derek, for the comfort of the body he knew so well. Blood spilled from his mouth, tears streaming from his eyes. "Please tell Dad that I'm sorry. Please tell everyone I love them."

"No, shut up, Stiles! You'll get to tell that to them yourself! You're going to be fine!" Derek shouted at him.

Reaching up a hand, Stiles rubbed his thumb over the other man's cheek, smearing it with his blood. "Don't kid yourself, this isn't okay. I'm only human. I can't bounce back from this like the rest of you could. I'm just human," he whispered, coughing, spilling more blood down his chin. He whimpered quietly.

"You could, you could if you accept the bite. Please, Stiles. You just have to say yes, and then you'll be fine," Derek pleading, nearly begging. They had the same conversation numerous times before and his answer was always the same.

Stiles shook his head. "On my own terms or not at all, remember? These are definitely not my terms, and there's no guarantee that the bite will take. Either way, I could die."

"Shut up, Stiles, you're going to be fine," Derek snarled again, dropping his face towards Stiles. Heat pressed in at the back of his eyes. "You have to be fine. Scott and Lydia, they can't lose you. I can't lose another person of my family. I can't lose you."

Peace soothed across Stiles' face even as more blood slipped from his lips. "You won't lose me. I'll always be here haunting your hairy ass. I'll just be invisible. I'll be the worst poltergeist you've ever had. Anyway, I'll be waiting with Allison and Aiden for all of your wolf asses and one banshee ass and one fox ass." Smiling sleepily, he pressed his lips to Derek's, then their foreheads.

"Stiles, Stiles, you can't," Derek whispered, pulling the boy closer. He could hear his heart slowly, sluggishly pumping blood through his body. No, Stiles couldn't die. If he did, Derek didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't live in a world without him. "Stiles, I love you, you can't go."

A pained laugh bubbled up from his chest. "It takes me dying for you to finally say those words. Hey, don't cry, sourwolf," Stiles whispered, blinking slowly, "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"No, Stiles," Derek shouted, shaking the boy just the slightest as if that would help, staring into those eyes that had always seemed to simultaneously piss him off and send his heart into a twirling whirl. "Stiles, you have to stay with me! Hold on! The others will be here soon! You can't go!" He shook him again, but this time he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't just him shaking.

His hand dropping away, Stiles murmured on his last breath, "I love you too, Derek, always will." Slowly, the light of his eyes faded, turning the hazel irises a dull grey. His chest stilled.

"Stiles!" Derek screamed, and this time he knew he was the one that was shaking. His entire body shook as he screamed his mate's name over and over until it turned into a hoarse, indistinguishable sob. He rocked back and forth, Stiles' cooling body cradled against his body.

"Stiles! Derek!" Scott shouted, rushing into the courtyard. Black, steaming blood reeking of the damned painted his chest and hands and cheeks onyx. Gouges as deep as Stiles' wounds were already beginning to heal in his sides. He slid to a stop, his heart fluttering with sorrow. "Oh god, Stiles." The tears were already streaming down his cheeks as he fell to his knees at his best friend's feet.

Lydia, Kira and Malia's mascara was already running, mixing with the blood of the hellhound as they entered the circle. At the sight of the pair, Malia spun around, pressing her hands over her mouth, just barely containing a hiccup. "Stiles, Derek," Kira whispered, wrapping her arms around Scott's shuddering shoulders.

Derek barely noticed when Lydia covered his shoulder and hand with her own, squeezing his fingers. "Derek, he's gone, you have to let go. You have to let go of him," she told him, her voices breaking.

"No, no, he can't," Derek sobbed, burying his nose in the crook of Stiles' neck.

"Why? You could've saved him! Why didn't you turn him? You could have saved him!" Scott shouted, staggering to his feet to stand over the broken man. His voice dropped to a murmur, "You could have saved him."

Derek shook his head. "He would have never forgiven me."

"He wanted to die as a human," Lydia whispered, pressing her face into his shoulder, "He wanted to die a human or turn on his own terms, didn't he?" Scott was on his knees again, clutching at the hem of Stiles shirt.

Derek curved around Stiles even more in response. This was wrong. Everything was so wrong. He should have been the one to die, just like so many times before.


End file.
